Being Alive
by Thirteenth-D
Summary: Santana hasn't felt... alive in forever. Coincidentally, neither has Brittany. Supernatural AU, girls are in high school. Side Faberry.
1. The Kiss

__**Okay, okay, I know I need to update _After_, but I honestly couldn't this time 'round. I had a bunch of shit with the family and I couldn't get out of the house. Like literally, I COULD NOT LEAVE. The way I was being kept inside the house for the whole goddamn month was total shit and should be completely and totally illegal.  
**

**Anyway. I'm sorry for not updating After. I'll do it as soon as I can write a chapter worth the work. Until then, I give you a dose of Brittana, which is yes sad, but it's AU, so whatever.**

**I'm not even sorry.**

**It's AU, as said before, and it's centered around Santana and Brittany mostly. A little bit of Faberry here and there too, and that's just because Brittana and Faberry are too perfect to not be associated with one another.**

**Again:**

**Not even sorry.**

**I want you guys to enjoy the story, and if I fuck anything up, don't be afraid to yell at my tired and lazy ass in the review section. That or you can PM me. I don't give a damn.**

**Anyway, enjoy this Brittana dosage.**

**Leave a review.**

**Add me or the story. Or both.**

**I'd prefer both, but again:**

**Don't give a damn.**

**Enjoy (for the third time in one Authors Note) and remember:**

**When in doubt, Fuck Bitches, Get Money.**

**Love you guys.**

* * *

_Someone to hold you too close…_

I walked through the doors, not really feeling the chill of the doors against my fingertips. I haven't felt the… the _feeling_ of much since my mom and dad passed away two years ago; ever since that drunk driver took them away from me.

Tears threatened my eyes as I trudged towards my locker. I didn't notice anyone calling my name as I turned the lock to open my locker. I slowly swung the metallic door open and lazily reached for my textbooks as Quinn appeared out of seemingly nowhere and leaned against the locker adjacent to mine.

"So, Santana," she began slowly, looking towards the sky—um, ceiling. "How was your summer? Good, I hope?" Her voice had a snarky tone to it, and it would've made my stomach turn if I could really feel or be affected by anything at all.

"Fine, how was yours?" My voice was monotone, but everybody had stopped worrying about two months into last year about me. In their minds, I was gone. Hell, in my own mind, I was gone.

"It was—"everything about her demeanor faltered: her "I'm Better than You" smile, her "I Know Everything" eyes, even her HBIC stance. "Santana… have you ever…." She chuckled, but even _I_ noticed that it lacked humor. "Just… never mind. It's nothing."

"Tell me."

She looked at me as if I was her last life boat; her last savior. She sighed, but then continued. "Have you ever… made out with… a girl?" Her voice, barely above a whisper, made a twinge shudder through my body. She was confiding in me the biggest secret of her life, even though it wasn't that big of a secret. A dry chuckle escaped my throat.

"Of course I've made out with a girl, Quinn. Who do think I am? Sister Agnes?" She visibly sank into herself and I stopped in my tracks. "I'm sorry, Quinn," I knew what it was like to sink into myself too much. I knew what it was like to hold too many secrets; too many feelings. I should be happy that she would trust me with something like this. "How-How was it?" I winced at my stutter. I didn't usually stutter, but I didn't usually have to deal with these kinds of things either, mind you.

"It-It was…" she let out a puff of air, "great, actually. It was the best kiss I've ever had." I saw tears swell in her hazel orbs. "What's wrong with me, Santana?" Quinn's face contorted horribly as she tried to stop the tears. "Why do I feel this way?"

I panicked.

"W-Well, Quinn, it isn't anything to be ashamed of. I like kissing girls better than guys too." I stopped for a breath. It shook. "Girls are just… you know, softer and gentler and it's okay to like them more than boys. They relate better to you and they know that a certain time of month comes and makes you want to either shoot somebody fifty-three time in the chest or screw everything in sight." She chuckled slightly through her unshed tears. "They know that you don't like it when they say 'Is it that time of the month' or come to your house smelling like another girl, or even worse, Breadstix's Alfredo." Another chuckle and the nibble of the bottom lip. "They know that you would want to take it slow and respect that." I rested my hand on her arm. "They would _know_. That's why girls are better than boys; because _they know_. So it's okay if you like kissing girls better than kissing boys. Truth be told," I leaned in close to her, and she followed suit. "A lot of girls secretly like girls. They just won't admit it. It takes a lot of strength to actually tell someone, Quinn. You're strong." I knew that I rambled, but for Quinn, it was worth it.

"Thanks, Santana," her voice was coated in sincerity, and not even that fake shit she usually tried to pull with people. It was real, honest sincerity. She gestured towards our shared class and we started walking towards it. After a few moments, Quinn's head tilted to the side and her lips pursed. "Wait, you said you liked kissing girls better than boys. Does that mean—"

"So who'd you kiss, Fabray?" _Change the subject; change the subject, _a voice whispered inside my head. It worked, and Quinn faltered yet again. A whisper escaped her mouth after a few breaths, and I could almost make out a name, but nothing definitive. "Say it again?"

She sighed.

"Rachel Berry."

I stopped, literally.

Quinn made out with Rachel Berry.

Okay, this is okay. This won't ruin everything we had worked to obtain.

"Santana," Quinn started. "Santana, say something, please."

"L-Let's just get to class," I muttered helplessly. I couldn't say anything. Rachel Berry was the bane of our high school existence. She stole Quinn's boyfriend, Finn (and even though I hated the whale blubber ingesting, Sloppy Joe eating, slob of a boy, it was pretty bad), she constantly tried to belittle us by telling us how to correct our voices and dance moves. "We'll talk about it later, yeah?" I rushed off to class, not looking back to check if she was following me.

I entered the classroom within a few moments and did a check of the room. The two-seater desk that most of the classrooms held were set up like they usually were. Cheesy decorations hung on the wall; sombreros, "authentic" Spanish scarves; the works. As a girl from Hispanic descent, I was honestly kind of disgusted with the teacher's apparent lack of knowledge of the Spanish Culture. The class was empty except for one blonde haired girl… sitting… in… my… seat…?

"Um-Um," I stuttered as I took a step into the room. "You're in my… my seat?"

Her head was bowed down, but at my words, her head shot up and I almost fell back at the intensity of her sky-blue eyes. She looked slightly confused at my sudden appearance, as her eyebrows were knitted together. Her head was tilted slightly to the side and she sucked on her bottom lip slightly. Blue eyes flitted up and down my body, obviously checking me out. She wore jeans that literally looked like they were painted on and a skin-tight white shirt under a fitted leather jacket. Her hair was pinned back on one side and straightened to perfection. Her tongue darted out to wet her cherry red lips and something extraordinary happened.

I felt something…

…Butterflies in my stomach.

…Pinpricks in my fingertips.

…The unmistakable catching of my breath.

I _felt._

For the first time in _two years_, I _felt._

Then, she spoke.

"Um, well it's the first day of school, right? I didn't think that we had seats yet. I'm sorry though, I'll move." She stood to do so, but I was at her side in a flash.

"No, no," I said quickly. I felt tears pool in my eyes. They weren't entirely bad tears; it was just… when she spoke… a dam inside of me broke, releasing all of my emotions, good and bad. "It's cool. I'll just sit next to you. Mr. Shue won't mind anyway; I'm one of his best singers." Releasing information about myself wasn't usually something I did, but this girl was… special. She was very special indeed.

"You sing?" she asked as she lowered herself to sit down once again and I maneuvered around her to sit down as well. I slid the seat out and slowly sat down, watching the whole time. In the few seconds that held our conversation, she had made me _feel_. Quinn, Puck… no one has been able to make me feel like this girl did; especially not in just a few moments. "That's cool." She turned to face me and her knee touched mine just slightly. My whole leg tingled and broke out in invisible flames. "I actually dance a lot. I started when I was, like, three and I've been doing it ever since."

"I started singing freshman year, when Mr. Shue started the glee club and my friend Quinn went through a psychotic rage and tried to tear a hobbit to pieces."

_Wow, Santana, very smooth. _However, the girl didn't miss a beat.

"You must have a pretty voice. I mean, if it's anything like your speaking voice, it's gotta be pretty amazing." Wait, was she _flirting _with me?

My cheeks burned with a blush and my mouth fell agape. I then seized control of it again and slammed it shut before quietly nodding. What was wrong with me? Usually when Puck flirted with me I would flirt with him right back, no problem. But when it came to this girl, I could only sit there and gape at her words.

"Um, thanks," I muttered as I looked down at my knees. "You… um, have pretty… eyes." I trailed off in embarrassment at my lack of eloquence and felt my face blush even harder.

She chuckled.

The girl _chuckled_.

"You're absolutely adorable, you know that?" she said after her laughter died down. "Really, really adorable." A comfortable silence overtook us, but the girl just kept staring at me. "Oh," she looked as if she just remembered something. "My name's Brittany, by the way." She extended a long-fingered hand towards me and I finally looked up and saw that her stunning, sky blue eyes were trained solely on my face; they traced every one of my features like they were etching them into memory.

"Santana," I whispered as my hand reached for hers. "It's nice to meet you.

Okay, having one of the prettiest girls _ever_ constantly be "_accidentally"_ rubbing her knee against mine through the _whole entire Spanish class _was absolutely _not_ on my Top Ten Things to Happen on The First Day of School. I wasn't complaining (at all), it's just weird to have a girl—one you just met, mind you—constantly rub her leg on you. Every time she did, she would look at me, smile like she had the greatest secret in the world, apologize with a flirtatious smile and face the front of the class with a smug look on her face. Rinse and repeat.

By the end of the class, Brittany had me hanging out on a limb and prepared to jump her in the hallway. As the bell rung, signaling the end of class, and everyone stood up to leave, Brittany stayed where she was. I stood to leave, but when I noticed that Brittany hadn't even made to stand, I stopped.

"Brittany?" I asked with slight concern, though I kept it well hidden. "You okay?"

This seemed to tear her from her stupor as she jumped a little in her chair and looked to me, her electric blue eyes wide and her body looking tense. "Ah, sorry, I guess I was just in my own little world." She smiled wide and I couldn't help but return it. "What do you have next?"

I reached into the front pocket of my red Cheerios backpack and grabbed my schedule. Looking at it, I saw the horrid, hand-written words: _'Biology, Room 928, with Ms. Holiday.'_

"Um, I have biology in room 928, you?" She smiled knowingly, though I have no idea how she 'knowingly' did so.

"Same," she grabbed my hand and tugged me out of the room. Now, I have never been much of a hand-holder, and Brittany must have noticed that somehow, and let go, only to grab onto my pinky soon after. Strangely enough though, I didn't mind it that much when it was her holding my hand…or linking pinkies for that matter, apparently.

We walked to class like that; pinky molded together, our bodies relatively close, my cheeks flushed almost red (which is really, really hard considering my ethnicity) and a smug smile upon Brittany's lips.

"So, um, you're a dancer?" I asked with a blush still apparent on my cheeks. I didn't look at her because then she would definitely see my flushed face.

"Yup, since I was three or so." She never looked at me, not since we left the classroom. After a while, the bell that started the next class rung and we were alone in the hallways. I hadn't even noticed that the hallway was crowded, much less emptied. I really needed to learn to be more observant.

"Um…" I began, but Brittany already knew where I was going with it.

"I forgot." She bought up her free hand and rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly. She turned to look at me for the first time since we started towards the Biology room and got really close to my face. We were breathing each other's air and looking deep into each other's eyes. I had only just met this girl. I knew nothing about her except that her name was Brittany and she had been dancing since she was three. Other than that, this amazingly sexy-beautiful blonde was a complete and total mystery to me. All that considering, it should've been impossible for her to make me feel things I hadn't since my parents' crash; butterflies, tingles… _happiness._ It was utterly amazing. It was dumbfounding and exciting and hot and beautiful and _god_, I usually ran away from people like that since two years ago. People who made me feel were people who had too much power over me, but with her—no, _Brittany_, it was too easy. She could take everything I could give her and then throw me out to the sharks when she was done, but I would never hate or blame her. Wow.

Brittany leaned further towards me, and I almost thought that she was going to kiss me, but what she did instead was so, _so_ much worse.

She brought her mouth to my ear, kissed it slightly—so slightly, I didn't think I actually felt it, but it just so happens that it wasn't a dream, she actually _did_ kiss my ear—and whispered slowly into it. "I don't know where Room 928 is; this is my first year here, you see."

I couldn't process what she had said.

I couldn't _really_ process _anything_ since she invaded my personal space.

When she kissed my ear?

Hell, I might as well have been on the floor passed out.

Or I might've been dead. Whichever works well enough for me.

My knees wobbled. Brittany noticed and wrapped her (surprisingly strong) arm around my waist which, no, did not help my situation _at all_. Her face was so close to my face, her never even closer. My senses were filled to the brim—if not overflowing—with pure, sincere, honest _Brittany_.

I smelled her vanilla-honey perfume.

I heard her slightly heaving breathing.

I saw the hairs on her neck stand up ever-so-slightly.

I _felt _her body heat wrap me in it and hold me.

I _felt _the knot in my stomach get tighter.

I _felt_ my knees give out that much more.

I _felt _her chest extend with a breath and heard a slight moan as she caught my scent.

I heard her whisper my name.

I shivered at the feeling of her tongue on my neck, dotting its way up my jawline, up along my chin and slowly tracing my lips.

My arms instantly grabbed her waist and pulled her closer into me. She swiveled us around and pressed me softly into a locker. My eyes were closed the whole time this was occurring, but when I felt the chill of an unused locker press against the back of my arms and legs, they shot open and found lightening-blue orbs trained on them. Her cherry red lips were apart and twitching slightly, and I knew that they were begging to be kissed.

"Then kiss me, Santana." She whispered with her eyes still glued to mine. My lips parted slightly as I stretched up to my tippy toes and looped my hands around her neck. I brought my lips to the corner of her mouth and kissed the area chastely. A groan escaped from her barely closed mouth and she turned to try and connect our lips, but I turned away just in time. "Ninja Santana," she whispered against my cheek. I looked at her again and pressed the side of my nose to hers, taking care that our lips didn't touch.

"You hardly even know me," I whispered as I let my thumbs gently stroke the back of her neck. She wrapped her arms around my middle and squeezed, bringing our bodies impossibly closer. "All you know is that I sing and my name."

"Wrong," she stated plainly as she tried to press her lips to mine again and failing again. "I also know that you're a cheerleader, you haven't been able to keep your mind off of me since you walked into that Spanish room, you hate the decorations in the room and you don't _have_ to take the class, but for some strange reason, you did." She moved to press our lips together after many attempts and I moaned quietly at the simple _feel_ of it. It was so, _so_ much softer than Puck's or Finn's or _anybody's,_ girl _or_ boy. It was like here lips were made of clouds and marshmallows and-and… _air_. I felt her chuckle as my arms clenched tighter and I pressed my lips harder to hers. Brittany groaned as the pressure increased to being almost painful. Our mouths both opened at the same time, like we had planned it and when our tongues touched, I almost thought that I would explode right there. It was like being shot out like a firework up into space, being caught my a jet plane, carried all around the world, being dropped into the arctic ocean, going at such a high velocity and speed that you went straight through it and shot straight through the ground into the center of the Earth, came out the other side and being shot into the sky like a firework. Every time our tongues stopped touching and then made contact again, it happened all over again. Coincidentally, our tongues touched a lot.

When I say 'a lot', I mean _a lot_. 'A lot' like we had kissed until the bell rung and people filed out to get to their respective places. We hesitantly broke apart and looked at each other. Only inches apart, we could still smell each other's perfume, breathe in each other's stale breath and see the glistening shine on each other's lips.

"We missed a whole class," I said, breathless and panting.

"Worth it, don't you think—"

"Santana," someone shouted. I turned and saw Quinn approaching with her standard HBIC pose and walk. "Where in the hell were you second period?" she sounded offended more than worried or anything else. She barely even glanced at Brittany as she split us apart with her body, leading with her hip. She faced me and glared and Brittany, being taller than Quinn by a few inches, made faces behind her back. I stifled a laugh, but only just barely.

"Um," I started, my voice shaking at Brittany's childish behavior, "I had to go to the office and get something worked out." She leaned in closer to whisper in my ear.

"Then what's _she_ doing here?"

"Oh, we were just talking. I guess we just lost control of the time. Sorry, Quinn," she scoffed quietly but accepted the answer, though a bit hesitantly.

"Whatever, c'mon, we're gonna be late for lunch." She took hold of my hand and dragged me toward the cafeteria and I twisted around to say a final word to Brittany, but she was nowhere to be found.

God, this girl is so…

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**I hope you guys liked it and if you didn't, I'm sorry you wasted all of your time reading my shit sack of a fic.**

**Again, Love you guys, review and follow and favorite.**

**-T**


	2. The Burn

_Someone to hurt you too deep..._

The room was dark. I assumed that the material was the same as the rest of the architecture in Hell; obsidian. I was standing in the middle of the room, my back straight and my hands behind my back and my head down slightly. I didn't have to physically see the two Archdemons in front of me. I didn't want to see their glares. Well, one of their glares. I knew what I did was wrong. I knew it was against the rules set for me by the Archdemons. I knew I was going to get punished.

"You were _not_ supposed to befriend her," the woman began. "You were supposed to protect her from afar, you incompetent fool." I could feel the anger resonate off of her, and I wanted to run with my tail between my legs into a corner and cry.

"Relax, mi amor," the man muttered calmly, like my life wasn't on the line. "It's not her fault that our dear Santana has a strong inclination towards women. Not to mention the fact that Brittany _is_ absolutely divine." If I could blush, I'm sure I would've.

"I don't care if Santana is a lesbian. I don't care if Brittany is _'divine'_. She's getting closer to our daughter, Antonio, and I think she's no right." I risked a glance up at the bickering couple. Antonio was in a relaxed position, looking at me from his spot on his high-backed, shiny-black chair, while his wife was leaned towards him in an identical chair. Her face was contorted in anger, whether at me or Antonio, I didn't know.

"Maribel, Maribel," Antonio chided in a light-sounding voice. "She's but a child, in immortal _and_ mortal terms, so of course Brittany's going to go after our Santana. I mean," he chuckled and gestured wildly with his right hand while smiling. "Have you seen the way she's grown into herself? She's not a chubby little child anymore. She's got your bust and behind and my eyes and nose. It's like we're asking to have her lose her purity quicker than we can say 'use protection'." He chuckled again and I felt my fists clench behind me. My jaw became more defined, my breathing increased and my mouth turned downwards as well.

"Oh? It seems as if my comment made you angry, Brittany," Antonio laughed and I felt myself get angrier. "Are you against safe sex? I mean, sure it feels better without, but I think I'd rather be safe than sorry. I don't regret Santana, don't get me wrong, but we did kind of have her a little earlier than planned." He looked to the ceiling as if pondering something and tapped his finger to his chin. His wife looked bored and slightly less angry. Well, at first. Then she started to glare at me again, though this time, I could feel the fire from her eyes.

"No," she shouted. She shot up from her seat and fire erupted from the torches on the wall. The flames got larger and I looked down at the ground again. "_No, no, no! Absolutely not! _You will_ not_ court _my daughter!" _The flames lapped against the ceiling, traveled across, and met in the center. There, they amassed until it was a huge fireball above my head. My head shot up just as the fireball decided to shoot towards me. I crossed my hands over my head to shield myself and fell to the floor.

I didn't see the way the flames made a dome around me. Nor did I see the pissed off look Maribel gave Antonio when the flames died down. I stayed lying on the ground, shaking as the married couple silently communicated with one another. I heard Maribel sigh heavily before feeling an extremely hot hand grip my forearm roughly. "Get up, you wretched cretin," she muttered. I dragged myself off of the floor until I was standing. I was taller than Maribel, but I didn't dare stand to my full height near her. "I will not tolerate you hurting my daughter. I _will not have it._ If you ever, _ever_ hurt her, I will send you to Lucifer my_self_. Understand?" Her hand squeezed my forearm and a burning sensation ripped through it. I couldn't answer through the pain, so she just squeezed harder and the burning got worse. "Answer me!" she screamed at the same time I shouted with pain.

"Alright," I screamed; my voice two octaves higher than usual. "_ALRIGHT! I WON'T HURT HER! I SWEAR!"_

"On _what," _Maribel whispered menacingly.

"On-On… _I swear_ _on my freedom."_

The burning sensation stopped for the most part.

I didn't hear Maribel's unneeded breaths.

I didn't hear anything and, for a moment, I thought I was deaf. Then I heard Antonio speak up.

"Your freedom? Brittany, that's not something to swear on." He was standing right next to Maribel and me, though I don't know when he got there. "Are you sure?"

"She gave her soul to Lucifer for money, Antonio," Maribel muttered. "If she really cares about Santana, she wouldn't bat an eyelid."

"I won't hurt her. I swear," I whispered, the pain almost too much to bear. "I swear on my freedom." I was only conscious enough to see Maribel and Antonio nod.

-0-

William McKinley High School never seems to disappoint me. Every time I walk in it seems like something bad happens to someone. My first day brought a thing called a 'slushie' to a really nice person's face. Yeah, okay, so I've done and seen some pretty mean and cruel stuff since my… you know… _reincarnation_, but having ice-cold corn syrup being dumped on you when all you did was dress differently or speak differently is just cold hearted and rude. I mean, most demons deserve the torture and pain they have to go through, like selling their souls to Lucifer or killing a bunch of people or something. Not, like, joining a certain club or wear a certain skirt. It's so… strange. Mortals are idiots. Except for Santana of course; she's beautiful and smart and really, really nice. Quinn, however, is sort of a bitch. She actually reminds me of Lucifer's daughter. Like, not just the attitude or anything. I mean, she _actually looks_ like his daughter. I'm not even joking.

So anyway, I was walking down the hallway towards the class that I first met Santana in when I passed this real weasel-y dude in wire-rim glasses and big, poof-y red hair. A tall Mexican kid was following him with a camera and I realized that he was toting around a fake-looking microphone. He looked like he was trying to scope out the next big scoop. He looked like he was about to do some seriously stupid shit.

Again: _Mortals are idiots._

A few yards away, I saw the two barbaric-looking guys in varsity football jackets. One was an overweight pale one and the other was darker skinned. They were holding white cups with a red band around them. From my experience yesterday, I knew what those cups were filled with, and exactly what those Neanderthals were going to do with them.

The two boys smiled menacing smiles to each other and advanced towards Weasel Boy and his sidekick. I didn't really think about it. I mean, as a demon, I should advocate violence and cruelty and such, but some part of me—the more human part of me, I'm guessing—told me to intervene. I intercepted the football players on their way to the targets.

I was in front of them when they snarled at me to get out of their way. Quickly—possibly _inhumanly_ quick—I slapped both of the cups up towards their faces. The pale one was covered in red slush, and the dark-skinned one was painted in purple. A _demonic_ smirk plastered my face as pushed them out of my way and again made my way to the class.

"What the hell, _blondie?"_ an obnoxious voice called behind me.

I'll say it yet again: MORTALS ARE IDIOTS.

"What the _fuck_ did you just call me?" I turned around and faced them, already seeing red. _No, no, Brittany,_ I told myself,_ calm down, Brittany; calm._ The red faded, but just to the edges as I walked towards the two boys. The dark one backed up, actually sensing my predatory demeanor. The pale one, unfortunately, did not.

"What? Are you offended, _blondie?_" Instead of backing down when I got up into his face, he leaned over me, having a few inches over me in height.

"I'd watch your tongue, Buffalo Boy." God, Santana's parents are watching this whole exchange. I'm _so_ not a perfect ten on the 'Girls They'd Let Their Daughter Date' list. Hell, I'd be surprised if I was a three; at most. "Because I could beat your ass to next month."

He turned and flapped his arms in an idiotic motion to the audience that had suddenly accumulated around us.

Make that a two on the list.

At most.

"Lookit guys," he nodded his head towards a few other jocks that had joined the audience. "This _bitch_ thinks she can beat me up." A few of the Red Jackets—that's what I've officially dubbed the thunder-headed jocks—snickered, and he joined them. "If only I could punch a girl. I," he slapped his meaty, sausage hands to his chest, and I grimaced in disgust. "I would definitely beat _your_ ass."

He turned to walk away, but the blood had clouded my vision yet again. Grabbing his tree trunk of an arm, I twisted him around until he was facing me and when he did, I punched him _hard._

I swear I heard a crack.

… A crack that sounded a lot like a broken nose.

His boulder-body slammed into the locker and the group around us gasped loudly. His head swiveled to look at me and blood coated and mixed with the red slushie on his face. Yeah, it was definitely a broken nose.

Yup, my name was officially crossed off and cut out of the list and then promptly burned.

My nose instantly picked up the smell; the smell of human blood; the metallic bliss that kept beings like me alive. I moved towards it quickly, fully prepared to blow my cover.

A hand on my upper arm stopped me, and I almost ripped the person's face off. That was, until I smelled coconuts and mangoes and a faint hint of lavender.

I spun around to face her and I was met with worried eyes and full lips. Lips that I wanted to kiss over and over again until they were raw. "Santana," the name fell from my lips and I could _feel _rather than see the red and the anger leave me. A smile—not a devious one—turned my lips upward and Santana frowned and a crease formed between her eyebrows. I moved to rub it away, but before I could, Santana pulled me out of the crowd and into the empty hallway. She dragged me all the way into the horribly decorated Spanish room and into the same seats we were in last time.

She sat me down like a child and turned her chair to face mine. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she asked, worry evident upon her face and laced into her voice. "You just punched Dave Karofsky in the face. You made _Dave Karofsky bleed._ Oh my God," she exclaimed. "You're gonna die! Karofsky is gonna kill you! Kill you, Brittany!" Her body slouched, and it looked like all the fight left her body. It was kind of sad. "I can't lose any more important people in my life," she muttered. If I didn't have super-duper, awesome, immortal hearing, I probably would've heard it. I acted as if I didn't hear her though, and sat my hand gently on her leg.

"I promise that I won't die. Especially by Karofsky's hand," I looked deep into her eyes and smiled reassuringly. "I doubt that he could even put a hand on me." Her mouth quickly turned into a frown as her eyes connected with mine. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her tanned hand reach up towards my face. I felt the tips of her fingers graze my cheek and my eyes closed in response. Her touch did things to me; really crazy and awesome things. It was… crazy and… awesome.

Her palm flattened on my cheek and I sensed her lean towards my face. The mark where her mother burned me flared and started burning again, and though it was tolerable, I still flinched. I only moved a tiny bit, but Santana noticed. My eyes opened as her hand fell from my face. I silently begged her to touch me again, and the mark hurt even more. Her hand again moved towards me, but this time it landed on my hand.

"I had a nightmare last night," she blurted. Her face flushed prettily and she ducked her head a bit. "I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head slightly. "That was really random," she muttered self-depreciatingly. I quickly set my hand on hers.

"Tell me about it," I whispered, leaning in closer to her as the mark burned more and more. God, Maribel really hated me getting near her daughter. Like, she hated it a lot. When Santana made no move to tell me anything, I lifted my hand and poked her nose softly, getting her attention. "Tell me, Santana. Please."

She smiled sweetly before beginning to talk. "Well, it's really hard to explain."

"Try me."

She smirked at me before taking a deep breath. "It was really dark…dark, like, not just see-dark, but it was like a _feel_-dark, you know? It literally _felt dark._ Not just dark though, it was hot too. It was really, really, _really_ hot." She looked up at the ceiling for a moment before her eyes returned to mine. "I was, like, locked up in this cage—it was really big, so I'll call it an _enclosure_—and people… well, they weren't really people… these _things_ were laughing at me and spitting on me and cussing at me and all this horrible stuff. Then they started hurting me with these really long sticks. It was like I was an animal in a zoo where the animals didn't have supervisors so the really bad kids get to do really bad things to the animals. I was the animal, Brittany." She stopped and looked at our joined hands before continuing. "It was so scary because they weren't _people_. They were _things,_ Brittany; they were really, really _bad_ _things_."

It was hard to listen to her. From the first four sentences I knew what she was talking about.

…Hell.

She described it perfectly. From the _darkness_ that communed there, to the simple _heat._ It was so, so, _so hot_ there. It felt like you were always burning; _always_. And the imps; it sounds like something they would do to new people; it was what they did to me. They kept me in a cage in the hottest part and they did so much horrible stuff to me. They did so much worse than what Santana had described.

I just looked at her, trying not to convey what I knew. No one could know what I was. That was a rule for demons venturing onto Earth: No one can ever know what you are. No one can ever know. Never. So I just put my hand on her cheek and stroked lightly.

…But I know why she had a nightmare about Hell.

It was because of me. I kissed her. I accidently let my aura—my memories—into her. I gave her a part of me on accident. Humans aren't supposed to have demon aura inside of them; it counteracts their natural divinity, making their body and mind react negatively.

"I'm so sorry, Santana," I whispered softly as I leaned towards her lips, intending to take back whatever aura I had given her. I didn't make it far because Santana stopped me halfway there.

"Why are you sorry?"

I spazzed. "Um, well, you know… I don't think that anyone should have to deal with nightmares. I mean, they're pretty gruesome, don't you think?" I retracted my hands quickly from hers and I rubbed my neck sheepishly. I heard her hum softly before she grabbed my arm forcefully. And when I say 'forcefully', I mean _forcefully_. Like, _really_, what the hell is that lunatic cheer coach doing to them? Grip like fucking steel.

"What happened to your arm?" Oh, shit. It was _that_ arm. Damn it all. I though the jacket would've covered the damn thing.

Damn it, Maribel, making marks fucking visible.

"Oh, um, I burned it while messing with the stove last night," I lied. And I'm a fantastic liar, might I add. After about, oh, I'd say _fifty_ _years_ of lying about your age and where you came from and other personal information, you'd get pretty good too.

"Oh… um, why were you messing with the stove?" her question was innocent enough, but, _goddamn_, why does she ask so many questions and, _Jesus Christ,_ why does she have to be touching me and making my head get all short-circuited and shit?

"I live alone." There, that's a short enough answer. But, _God Almighty,_ the fucking mark that Maribel left hurt so badly even though Santana was nowhere near touching it.

"… Can I ask why?" C'mon, Santana; why do you have to make lying so hard.

…Wait.

I don't have to lie to her this time.

"I lost them in a car crash. My parents, brother, sister and I were all in the car. I was the only survivor." Now, I might now have a soul anymore, but _damn_ if talking about my long-deceased family didn't hurt.

"Me too," she whispered. I looked at her in surprise, though I already knew. "I didn't have any siblings, but my parents…" I could see the tears in her eyes. Before they could fall, I swiped at them with my thumb with a sorrowful look in my eyes.

"You don't have to talk about it, Santana," I whispered. God, I knew what it was like to lose people you loved. "I know how hard it is," her breath was heavy and I could tell she was trying not to cry, even though she already was. I wanted to make her feel better, I really did, but _goddamn _it was hard when my fucking burn hurt like shit.

_My God_ I hate this above-Hell air. It freaking _sucks_.

_Get off of my daughter, Brittany,_ a voice shouted in my head, and I recognized it instantly as Maribel's. The burn hurt more than ever before and I realized that it wasn't the air, but Maribel warning me.

_Lo siento, Brittany, _Antonio's voice resonated through my mind, and my burn mark immediately felt better. I sighed in relief and Santana gave me a strange look.

A silence overtook us, but Santana's hand was still locking my harm in a massive grip of fucking death. We were sitting there for what seemed like forever and I distractedly wondered when the bell was supposed to ring.

"Hey, this sounds kind of sudden," Santana murmured, although in the breath-taking silence of the room, it sounded more like a gunshot. "But do you want to maybe come over to my house this weekend? My grandma is going out with her friends this weekend so I have it all to myself." She bowed her head and gave me a shy look through her eyelashes. "I also kinda don't want to be alone, so…" Santana bit her full, pink lip in a shy motion and she tried to look away, but I quickly set my hand on her cheek and turned her face towards me.

The burn flared as I brought her face close to mine. "I'd absolutely love to—"The burn mark felt as if Maribel's hand was again placed there and burning me all over again and I yelped in pain.

"Brittany?" Santana said worriedly. "Are you okay?" I grabbed my arm to try and subdue the pain, but all it did was exacerbate it.

"Yeah," I pushed through my quickly swelling throat. Before I could get anything more out, it closed up completely and prohibited my breathing. My hand went straight to my throat to try to alleviate the swelling, but nothing would work. Santana was, of course, freaking the hell out, and I just wanted her to stop worrying about me. I was fine.

I was fine, right?

No I wasn't. Maribel was pissed and now she was going to kill me.

I stood up quickly to try and run out of the room before I passed out in front of Santana, but it was too late; my vision was already blurring and my head was swimming. My knees gave out and I quickly collapsed onto the desk, then the chair and, finally, the floor.

All I heard before I fell unconscious were Santana's screams.

-0-

Vision came to me slowly. When I first opened my eyes and let Earth's light filter through my almost-accustomed eyes, all I saw was white of the ceiling and the blaring fluorescent lights. However, in my semi-conscious processing center, I somehow thought it was the light of Heaven's Grace. All of the breath in my body left me and I almost started crying in joy.

I would finally be able to be with my family again. We'd be able to be together again.

We'd be a happy family again.

Then, my sight cleared from its newly-opened blur and I realized that it wasn't Heaven Grace I was looking at, but the glare of the school's surprisingly good lighting system.

And I almost started crying. Not because it wasn't Heaven, but because it would never be Heaven. I would never, _ever_ be able to go there and be with my old family.

I had a _new_ family.

Why couldn't I understand that?

"Brittany?" Santana's voice asked from my left. My head lolled to the side and I came face to face with her. Like, _face-to-face_; like, our faces were mere inches apart. "Are you okay?" I opened my mouth to tell her that I was fine, but my voice box was seemingly blocked from lack of use, and nothing came out.

I fucking hate this semi-mortal body sometimes.

The shit's fucking faulty as crap.

Instead of saying anything—again, semi-mortal body being temperamental—I simply smiled and nodded my head. Santana smiled softly back at me and I almost kissed it off of her.

Like, in all honesty, how could one mortal be so beautiful?

Oh, that's right, abnormally demonic parents.

I got it now.

I blinked a couple of times to get the remnants of the Unconsciousness Blur out of my eyes and then tried to sit up. Actually succeeding—oh my god, this body_ does_ work sometimes!—I catch the look of two more pairs of eyes. Two are hazel; two are chocolate-y brown. I recognized the hazel-eyed blonde as Quinn and I immediately wanted her out. Sure, she was mortal and could only do so much, but she reminded me of Lucifer's daughter _bad_. When I say that, I don't just mean the bitchitude, no, I mean she literally _looked_ like Lucifer's daughter. Plus she was totally one of those girls who think they deserve everything on a solid gold platter.

Again; just like Lucifer's kid.

And Rachel… well, Rachel and I actually know each other quite well. She was actually the one who introduced me to my new body, new home; everything.

Actually, Rachel is what Middle Easterners would normally call a _Jinn_. In normal American terms, that'd be a shape shifter. (God, I love Americans nowadays; they have to simplify freaking _everything_. If it's not as simple as 2+2=4, they freak out and try to make it that way. Lazy asses, I swear.) When I was first dragged to Hell by the hellhounds, she was the second being I ever saw—the first, of course, being the original demons who tortured me. She showed me around, taught me what to do and what not to do in _and_ out of Hell. In our time that we spent together, Rachel told me a lot about herself. How she was born in Hell, how she'd met Lucifer face-to-face once before—on good terms of course—and how she didn't really think Hell was that bad compared to Earth.

"I mean," I remember her saying once, "It's not like we're constantly barraged to pick a side down here, you know?"

I also remember telling her that no, I didn't really know, but that's unimportant.

Rachel gave me a small smile, obviously knowing what I was thinking about; no, she wasn't a mind reader, she just kind of _knew_. I smiled back and noticed Santana glaring from beside me.

Suddenly, the sound of opening curtains filled the room and all eyes shot to the nurse and I recognized her as yet _another_ demon. She took the form of an old, small and frail lady, with gray hair and startling green eyes, who slouched and limped across the room to my borrowed bed. "Quinn, Rachel and Santana brought you here, sweetie," she muttered in a sickeningly sweet voice. "It seems that you've burnt yourself." The nurse gestured to a bandage that was wrapped around almost my whole forearm, effectively covering the Maribel's mark. "I soaked it in burn ointment and pain medication so it'd stop hurting for the most part, but you still might feel a little pain."

I poked at the bandage and, yes, it was wet, but probably with pomegranate juice rather than just regular burn ointment. I prodded it again, though this time my hand was slapped away by the nurse's. "Don't touch it," she snapped and a little teeny bit of demon showed, though only fellow demons would've noticed.

Rachel snickered at our interactions, immediately receiving a glare from Santana.

Obviously, Santana didn't really care for Rachel at all.

"Alright," I muttered as I went to stand up, and Santana and Quinn were instantly at my side. "What?"

"You fainted," Quinn snapped. "We're obviously going to be worried about you." Wait, was she… caring?

Dear god, the apocalypse is upon us all.

"Oh," I replied as nicely as I could to Queen Bitch. "I'm okay, I promise." Quinn seemed satisfied with that, but Santana still looked worried. I took her face in my hand and lifted it to look in her eyes sincerely. "I _am_ okay, Santana; I promise." Her eyes were filled with worry and it showed on her face as well. Quickly, though, she seemed to sense my honesty—ha, a demon being honest? Twaddle, I say—and instead calmed down a little bit. "What time is it, by the way?"

"Eleven o' seven," the nurse answered. "You should get to class; all of you."

Rachel and I simply smiled whilst Quinn and Santana scowled and semi-sulked out of the clinic, Santana at my side, Rachel at Quinn's. We walked like that down the hall until we came to a break where the hall split to the left and to the right. Quinn and Santana would take the right hallway to Geometry as Rachel and I would go left to history. As a parting gift, I suppose, Santana leaned up on her toes and kissed me full on the lips, seemingly caring about neither Quinn nor Rachel's presence. Before I could get with the program and actually kiss her back, we were separated and she was walking down the hall, her pleated skirt leaving just enough to the imagination.


	3. The Hunger

_Someone to sit in your chair, and ruin your sleep..._

The moonlight seeped into the room through the large bay window that stood to the left of the queen-sized bed. A girl slept on the bed; she had long, dark brown—almost black—hair and caramel colored skin. She wore little—just a small tank top and sleep-shorts—and was lying on her stomach, oblivious to the world around her. It was endearing to watch her sleep, who knows what she could've been dreaming of. Probably fields of flowers or her parents or something.

It made me want to be able to dream again.

The girl stirred in her sleep and lifted her head. My body inadvertently tensed, even though I knew she couldn't see me. She looked around her room with tired and glazed eyes before rubbing them and turning over onto her back. She put one arm under her head and the other positioned on her lower stomach. Oh, the things she could do with that hand…

My own stomach tensed and I felt the familiar tingle of arousal flood my body. She looked asleep, but it was hard to tell. It was especially hard to tell when her fingers started tracing over her skin seductively.

"Brittany…" I heard her whisper and I had to bite my bottom lip, cross my legs and clench my fists to keep from forming and having sex with her right there.

Maribel and Antonio would not be pleased with that at all. The slight burning feeling in my arm told me that already.

Wait, did she know that I was there in her room, watching her, getting off on her…

…Getting off?

I watched her hand slip beneath her shorts and towards her… you know. It bobbed up and down once before Santana let out a long sigh. A couple more bobs and Santana's breath hitched a little bit. "Brittany," Santana whispered, though it was more of a groan mixed with a moan.

And, dear god, it was so breathy.

My center hurt with arousal and it was so hard not to go over to her bed and give her a 'helping hand'. The thought didn't get very far without another burning sensation going through my arm, though it was nothing compared to the other day.

"God, Brittany," she moaned again, and I had to turn my head away as her hand started to move faster and faster. Her breath was choppy and short, her whole body writhing on her black bed. "More…" she breathed and her hand moved almost inhumanly fast. Her legs twitched and her other hand clenched the blankets so tight her knuckles turned white. With a few more movements of her hand, her back arched off of the bed and her breath more or less stopped. My name was the only thing that passed through her lips as she came.

She stayed like that for a moment before she relaxed with a long sigh, followed by panting. She removed her hand from her shorts and rested it on her forehead as she caught her breath. Then, she put both hands on her face and sighed. Quickly, she sat up, rested her elbows on her knees and put her face in her hands. "Lo siento," she whispered, and I immediately floated—yes, floated—towards her to hear better; I was so aroused, my hearing was fuzzy. "Lo siento mi mama, mi papa," she muttered.

Why was she apologizing?

"I know you wouldn't approve," Santana began and tears were in her voice. "But you must understand," she continued. "I feel things for her and I haven't felt anything for so long." She looked up and the moon's light reflected off of the tear streaks on her beautiful face. "I know you're with God, but you must understand that I really like her. Abuela _definitely_ wouldn't approve," she chuckled. "But I know that you two are a lot more understanding."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

One, Santana thought that her parents were in Heaven.

Two, her grandma wouldn't approve of us if we were to be together.

Three, she really likes me, and I feel freaking _awesome._

_Hush, you fool,_ Maribel's voice popped into my head. _I would like to hear my daughter speak._

_Of course, Madam,_ I replied submissively. I hate being submissive; it's degrading and slightly insulting.

_Damn it, you shit-for-brains,_ Maribel shouted in my head. _Shut the hell up._

"If you two approve, tell me," Santana begged, even though I'm pretty sure she doesn't expect a response. "Please, if anything, I want you guys to approve of my feelings."

_Knock, _Maribel demanded, though I didn't really get what she was saying. I mean, I understood, I just didn't get why.

_Why? _I asked her.

_Because I fucking said so_, she replied.

I hated it when she cussed at me.

Avoiding another punishment, verbal or otherwise, I gave my hand some kind of solidity and knocked twice on the closest wooden object. It just happened to be a dresser with photo frames of Santana in her multiple after school activities: the Cheerios, Glee Club, Spanish Club, and Prom Committee; she was really quite the achiever.

Santana's head immediately shot up at my knocks. "Mamá, papá, are you here?"

_Si, mija,_ Antonio said into my head. I watched Santana's face contort into a smile before erupting into a furious blush as I willed my hand to transform back into smoke. "Oh my god, have you guys been here the whole time? Did you just see…? I'm pretty sure I'm dying of embarrassment."

A few quick knocks came to the door and Santana sprang up out of her bed and rushed to the door. "Mamá, papá, is that you?"

The wrinkled face of her grandmother showed up instead. "No, nieta," she growled in a heavy Spanish accent. "I'm am not your mamá, nor am I your papá," she drawled. "Listen Santana," her grandmother muttered as she slowly stepped into the room.

_Brittany, quick, _Antonio shouted at me as Santana's grandmother came further into the room. _She can see spirits and ghosts; hide!_

I ducked under the bed swiftly when the woman turned her back to look at Santana. From under the bed, I watched as her grandma looked around the room, obviously looking for something. Keeping in mind Antonio's previous words, she was probably looking for me.

"Santana," her grandma muttered in her heavy Spanish accent. She paced back and forth across Santana's room, investigating every corner and crack. "Did you know that your mother had Native American blood in her?"

Santana merely sighed and pushed her hair out of her face. She looked at her grandmother with a look that told me that she thought her grandma insane.

I totally agreed with her.

"No, Abuela, I didn't know that," she put her hands on her hips and rolled her head. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason, really," she answered distractedly. Man, does this woman ever stop?

_No, _Maribel answered, annoyed, _Alma's a very stubborn old hag._

_Hey, be nice to my mother,_ Antonio defended. Maribel just sighed and stayed quiet.

"She owned a dream catcher, you know. I think you should have it," her grandma continued. She was still freaking looking for me. Alma is one determined old lady.

"I'm not having bad dreams, though, Abuela," Santana whined off-handedly. You go Santana; fight for my right to stay! "I'd be lucky if I could get to sleep in the first place," she muttered under her breath; I heard it clearly.

"I'll give it to you tomorrow, nieta," she whispered as she made the slow walk back to the door. "Sleep well, my dear," were her last words before she finally left Santana's room.

"Freaking finally," Santana quietly moved to her bed and lied down, putting a slight, barely-there pressure on my smoke body. I hurriedly fled from under the bed—how cliché is that; a monster under your bed?—and gazed at Santana's quickly-relaxing body. "I don't have bad dreams. Do I?" she asked, and for some strange reason I feared that she was actually talking to me. "No, I don't; just overly-weird dreams." She rolled over to lay on her side, so her back was to me. I took a chance and sat next to her; the bed not moving an inch, thank everything. I raised my hand to brush the lock of black hair out of her face, but she rolled over and looked at the ceiling before I could. Backing away quickly, I slipped through the minute crack between the windows and its sill. Manifesting completely on the grass in her front lawn, I started pacing furiously.

_Relax, you fool_, Maribel screamed inside of my head. _What are you so worried about?_

"If her grandmother puts a dream catcher up in her room, I won't be able to go into her room, day _or_ night."

_Because that doesn't sound creepy at all_, Antonio drawled. I sighed with agitation and threw my hands into the air.

Demons are so immature sometimes.

_I heard that,_ Antonio sassed.

Sighing in exasperation and I stuffed my hands into my pockets and began the long walk home. I didn't get further than the sidewalk when I heard my name being called from the third-story window. It sounded a lot like Santana was…you know, again.

Damn, this girl is the freaking Energizer Bunny.

_Watch it; that's my daughter you're talking about,_ Maribel reprimanded.

"Brittany," she breathed out a final time.

_Damn,_ Antonio breathed. _She really, _really _likes you, Brittany._

_Stop advocating, Antonio,_ Maribel shouted hot-headedly. I flinched slightly as their semi-argument progressed. _You do not need to advocate Brittany's listening in on Santana's…actions,_ Maribel trailed.

I carried on to the sidewalk, trying to forget everything Santana was doing in her bedroom, as Maribel and Antonio kept on bickering.

"Will you both, please, either shut up, or argue somewhere else?!" I shouted, pressing on my head with hands. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a man sitting on a bench. He looked at me with a weird look. I ducked my head and hurried away, my hands deep in my pockets and my shoulder's hunched slightly. "See? I get weird looks all of the time because I'm telling you two to stop shouting at each other _in my freaking head,_" I whispered furiously.

_We don't have to listen to you, _Maribel snapped. _You're just a little, low-level demon; you couldn't do anything to us if you tried._

_Although I hate it when Maribel's right, _Antonio began, _she is quite right. You can't do anything to us._

I sighed; I could never win with this freaking couple.

I made my way towards the too-big house that had been bought—just for me—by Antonio and Maribel; indirectly, of course. I unlocked the large, dark-colored door and walked slowly inside; those freaking Brownies could be anywh—

"Brittany!" a high-pitched voice squealed. I jumped and shielded my eyes as all the lights turned on at the same time. "Brittany!" many more joined. Eventually, the Brownies were all chanting my name in unison and in their high-octave voices; "Brittany, Brittany, Brittany!"

"Okay, guy," I shouted over their chants as I quickly shut the front door; I didn't need the neighbors seeing my mythical Brownie cleaners. "Let me sit down before you bombard me, okay?" I hurriedly moved into the living room and plopped down on the soft leather couch. Immediately, I was covered in little, brown, bear-like creatures, all of them crying out for my attention. "Alright, little guys," I muttered whilst patting my lap. It was swiftly filled by a little Brownie. "Go ahead."

Brownies are cute little guys. They're brown—of course—and they have these _huge_ brown eyes. They're fuzzy as I'll get out, and they like to cuddle _a lot_—almost _too much_—at night when they're supposed to be cleaning. That's what they do—or supposed to do, rather: clean. They can be vicious little buggers when they want to, though. One time, two of them got into a fight and only one got out. It really pissed me off that they would rather fight to the death rather than work out their problems, so the other one ended up dying too. Needless to say, we haven't had any terribly vicious altercations since.

"Brittany," the tiny Brownie squealed as it snuggled into my stomach, igniting the need for the lot of them to snuggle with me as well. The house was so big that I needed a lot of them to keep the house even _relatively _clean. Because I had so many and they were _all_ trying to snuggle with me at the same time, I ended up suffocating under all the weight. "We missed you, Brittany," they shouted together. "We tried cleaning the kitchen today," one of them said from the back of the couch. "But Ize dropped the milk, which scared Rali, which made Falis drop the salt box all over the floor. Makra slipped on the salt and knocked over Kais, Pala and Tista. They were holding a bucket of water, so they dropped it—"

"It was a whole big mess, Brittany!" one of them—Piko, I think—said.

My kitchen must've looked like a mess.

"I had to supervise the clean-up, Hostess Brittany."

A whitish, translucent-looking person walked out into the living room—through the wall, mind you—and placed itself among the throng of Brownies. "The small creatures are utter failures when it pertains to coordination and organization."

"Forgive my absence at the time, Jenson," I muttered as more and more Brownies trampled me under their weight. Once knocked the breath out of me in its attempt to get in my face. I hissed—literally hissed—out a breath and glared at the mainly-innocent Brownie. He backed away slowly, scared; I could feel him shiver and shake on my lap. My more demonic side, Ephraziel, wanted to rip the little being apart piece by piece, but my human side somehow overpowered Ephraziel and pushed her down deep inside of me.

You see, every demon/human combination that walked the Earth had a constant war inside of them. The demon wants to pillage, to harm and hurt, whilst the human wants to suppress that need; the human wants to be normal and the demon begs to be different. It was a never ending battle between the massive force of good and the all-consuming force of evil. I was surprised when I didn't explode from all of the pressure inside of my head my first day back on Earth. Sometimes, though, it'll throb painfully. It's only then that I'll feed. When the dull blur of pain turns into a headache, and then into a consistent migraine; that's the only time I'll feed.

Nowadays, however, the migraines happen more and more often. It's especially bad since Maribel and Antonio hired me to watch over Santana. Every time I see her, the migraine comes out of nowhere—it doesn't even crescendo, it's just _there_—until I almost can't stand it. That's another reason as to why I've been hunting more than usual. Yes, it started to get a little suspicious, so I simply ventured out of the Lima City Limits and fed there. Unfortunately, however, it's still conspicuous when a group of sixteen through seventeen year olds dies without reason in their sleep. Sure, Maribel and Antonio helped a little bit and sent me "snacks" (people who sell their souls and receive the punishment of being finger food for Earth-dwelling demons), but it still wasn't the same. I was freaking starving almost all of the time and it was all Santana's fault.

"It's okay, Piko," I whispered as I contained Ephraziel under a veil of humanity. I patted Piko's head and smiled warmly. The Brownie ceased it's cowering and gave me a tiny smile before apologizing and kissing my stomach softly. I chuckled, shaking Piko's whole body. He scratched his thick fur with his long claws before lightly scratching my stomach and jumping off. "My kitchen is not a mess, then?" I asked Jenson.

"No, Hostess Brittany," Jenson muttered, shaking his head. "It could be considered sparkling, even." He smiled sweetly before disappearing back into the wall he first appeared from.

I looked around the room at all of the Brownies. They've been my family ever since I came back to Earth. They were the only family I had now and, honestly, I couldn't ask for a better one.

-0-

"Are you okay, Brittany?" Rachel asked as we made our way to our Honors History class. I turned to her with squinted eyes, confusion written all over my face. She raised her hand in a sassy manner and rolled her eyes like a diva. I leaned back a little bit. Sure, Rachel's always been a bit of a, well, _diva_, but she's never blatantly showed it. _This _Rachel was quite amusing. "What?"

"You are _such _a diva, Rach," I laughed as I shoved her softly.

"Rach?" a voice asked from in directly in front of us. Neither of us were paying attention, so when Quinn and Santana both appeared in front of us with HBIC looks on their faces, we were both kind of surprised. "Since when do _you _call her Rach?" Quinn bitched. Santana nodded slightly, her ponytail bobbing up and down gently. Bobbing up and down just like her hand was doing… last… night…

"Are you going to answer me or are you just going to stand there like an idiot?" Quinn rocked her head in a—what was it called? Oh yeah—_ghetto_ fashion while she placed her hands on her hips. Does she realize she's white?

"I'm not an idiot, thank you insinuating such, though, _Quinn_," I smiled venomously and narrowed my eyes. Santana tried to contain her laughter from Quinn's side while Rachel just chuckled openly. Apparently ignoring my comment, Quinn simply licked the bottom of her teeth and looked at the ceiling. I was pissing her off so much and it was hilarious as crap.

"Why the hell are you calling her 'Rach'?" Quinn asked, even more pissed off than she was a minute ago. She took a few steps forward, but instead of following her, Santana merely put all of her weight on one leg and watched as the scene before her unfolded.

"Because she's my friend," Rach answered in my place. "And friends have the right to call each other by their nicknames." Just like before, Rach was being a sassy diva and I don't think Quinn would've liked that. At least, if it were anyone else she'd be pissed. I'm guessing—and by guessing, I mean 'I know'—that Quinn had a very, very, _very_ soft spot for Rachel Barbra Berry.

"Why is _she _your friend and not _me_?" I was shocked at Quinn's voice; it was insecure and quiet and… distinctly _not_ Quinn. Her whole façade fell as she came close to Rachel—and myself, unintentionally, I'm sure—and reached for her hand. Smiling, Rachel let Quinn take her hand and stare into her eyes. "I thought I was… you know."

"You are," Rachel whispered sweetly and I almost gagged at the sight. "But no one knows, so it'd be weird if you called me Rach, especially at school."

"Well I don't care," Quinn snapped. "If I want to call you 'Rach', I'm damn well going to call you 'Rach'." Ferociously grabbing Rachel's wrist, Quinn turned, bid Santana a quick goodbye and stalked off into the distance.

Santana came up to my side and grabbed my pinky gently. Keeping in mind Maribel's burn, I only loosely held on, though I _did_ want to grip it tightly. "I wonder if they realize that they're going to be late for class," I muttered whilst pulling her closer to me, our arms grazing every time we took a step.

"I wonder if you realize that _we're also_ going to be late for class," Santana whispered seductively as she grabbed onto my arm and ducked into a nearby bathroom.

That's really, really romantic Santana; I mean, really, you must've tried so hard to pick this place.

She quickly flicked the lock before pinning me against the door. Her breasts were pressing against mine; her hips were putting pressure on mine; her _everything_ was touching mine and it felt _really, really good_. "Santana," I moaned quietly as she rolled her hips into mine softly. "C'mon, Santana," I whispered as her full red lips kissed my neck with feather-light touches. "We're gonna be—"the bell rung throughout the school, and I vaguely felt Santana smile against my neck. "… Late…" I sighed.

"Don't I have excellent timing?" she asked as the tip of her tongue flicked against my upper lip. I breathed out a sigh and connected our lips immediately after. Harmonizing moans echoed around the bathroom as our hands trailed and massaged each other over and over. "Brittany," Santana gasped between kisses. I didn't stop kissing her, though; she was just too delicious, too desirable, too goddamn _yummy_ for me to resist. "Hm, Brittany," she pulled away sharply, but I immediately gripped her hips and reversed our roles. She was now pinned against the door with my hands on her supple breasts, my thigh in between hers and my tongue invading her mouth fiercely. Her body pressed into my roughly and I responded with a soft bite on her tongue. A sharp gasp and a long moan erupted form her throat and I again couldn't help but remember her masturbating last night. The memory just made me hornier and hungrier than before, and trust me, I was really, really horny and really, really hungry before.

Removing my hands from Santana's shirt, I swiftly tucked both of my hands inside of Santana's underwear. There, I gripped and massaged both cheeks roughly. I felt Santana's hips rock into my own, and then into my hands, getting pressure on both sides. All I heard was Santana's moans and the smacking and slick sound of our mouths.

_Hungry…_ a voice inside of my head moaned. I almost registered the sound, but Santana had gripped the hairs at the base of my head and pushed me harder against her, so I really didn't have the attention span for the moan.

"Brittany…" Santana breathed as my hands massaged deeper into her bottom. Her head fell back and hit the bathroom door hard, but instead of asking if she was okay like I was probably supposed to, I attached my lips to her neck and sucked _hard_.

"Santana," I groaned in between neck-kisses. "God, Santana, I… I want…" I clenched my eyes together and breathed in deep.

"What," she gasped. "What do you want, Brittany?"

"Call me 'Britt'," I lead her away from my previous topic, not wanting to finish my statement. Who knows how she would've reacted. Hey, my name's Brittany, but you can call me Britt and I'm a demon who's insanely hungry and wants to devour not only your flesh, but your very soul.

…Yeah, somehow, I don't think that would've ended well.

"That was kind of random," she breathed. I licked a sloppy, wet trail up the caramel expanse of her neck while humming comfortably as Santana's hands slid from the base of my neck to my shoulders and finally to my breasts. A deep moan escaped from my throat as she massaged my covered breasts softly. "Hm… why do you want me to call you 'Britt'?"

"Well, we _are_ friends, aren't we?" I whispered as I tore myself from her neck and stared into her deep brown eyes. Santana shyly laughed and looked aside to the bathroom wall. She bit her bottom lip cutely and chuckled softly.

"I had hoped we were more than _just friends_," she grinned widely before squeezing my breasts simultaneously. I groaned and panted heavily before palming her backside yet again. She made a matching sound before resting her forehead against my own.

_Hungry_, the voice inside my head moaned again, though it was much, much louder than it was before. Quickly, I separated our bodies form each other and put distance between us. Occurring out of nowhere, the migraine tore my head apart. I pressed my hands to my temples and slowly staggered to the sink. The pain in my head made my whole body shake and tremble. Suddenly my legs wobbled uncontrollably and I had to use the porcelain sink to support myself.

_Hungry_, the voice cried loudly.

_I know,_ I yelled back through the cloud of agony in my head. _Later, I promise, Ephraziel!_

_Now!_

"Brittany?" Santana asked worriedly as I watched her approach me through the large mirror that spread along the whole bathroom wall. "Are you okay, sweetheart?" she begged to know. She put her hand on my back softly and rubbed slightly with her thumb. "What's wrong?"

"It's just a migraine," I whispered, afraid of what speaking in full tone would do to my head. I looked at myself in the mirror and groaned slightly at the sight of the familiar black smoke collecting at the perimeter of my eyes. I closed them and looked down before Santana could them and freak out. I was lucky she didn't see them when I myself chanced a glance. "I'll be fine though," I muttered, standing straight and looking her in the eye. "I promise."

_I'm not fine, you blundering idiot! _Ephraziel screamed into my head. _I'm fucking starving, dammit!_

"Do you want to go to the nurse? I'm sure she's got Excedrin or something." She sounded so unsure about it. It also seemed like she was… scared.

"It's okay," I placed my hands on both sides of her face softly. I set my lips to her forehead in a tender kiss. "I'll be okay." Her large brown eyes looked uncertain and abnormally wet. "Say," I began, trying to distract Santana as well as clear my vision from the black smog in my vision. "Would you like to come over to my house after school?" Santana looked excited and almost like she'd wanted to leave immediately. Afterwards, however, her face fell in disappointment.

"I want to, I do," she exclaimed, gripping my hands with her own. It must've shown on my face how saddened I was. "I have Glee Club, though," she trailed.

Wait, was that it? Was that all that was keeping her from me?

"Oh," I began simply, optimistically. "I'll just wait then."

"But I have Cheerios after that," she whined.

"Do you not want me to stay?" I asked, thinking she was just using me for masturbatory aides.

"I didn't think you'd want to go through that much trouble for me." I honestly _didn't_ think Santana was _that_ insecure.

"Trouble," I was flabbergasted at the mere idea of being _troubled_ by Santana. How could _anyone_ be _troubled _when it pertained to Santana? "How could I be _troubled _by waiting for you after your clubs and stuff? I would be _honored_ to wait for you and drive you to my home and then yours. If you want to, of course;" her eyes swelled up with tears and she swiftly threw herself into my chest, crying and blubbering like a child.

_What the fuck? _Ephraziel asked, just as confused as I was.

"No one has _ever_ said anything like that to me before," Santana wailed into my cleavage. She clawed at my back, bringing my body closer to her. Not knowing what to do, I hesitantly wrapped my arms around her waist. I looked up over her head and at my reflection. A flicker of Ephraziel—completely black eyes, a manic smile, too pale complexion and dark red blood dripping from her eyes, ears and mouth, her severely contorted features—and I refrained from flinching. Over fifty years living with her inside of me, of bonding with her over blood and corpses and I still hate the sight of her face.

"It's okay Santana," I whispered soothingly as I rubbed miniature circles on her hip bones with my thumbs.

_Okay, so either this bitch is bat shit crazy, or she's bat shit premenstrual, _Ephraziel theorized distractedly. I could just imagine her lazing around on her obsidian, high-backed chair, twirling her hair around a single finger with her head and her legs falling over the arms. I shushed the demon, however, grabbed her chin softly and raised her face to look me in the eye. I tenderly wiped the alligator tears from her eyes and cheeks and kissed her forehead affectionately. _I don't see why you're fucking mad at me, Britt-Shit,_ Ephraziel insulted. _I didn't do fucking shit._

_I'm mad at you because you're an idiot, Ephraziel,_ I replied, still gazing into Santana's beautiful, chocolate brown eyes. "I really don't like seeing you cry, Santana," I muttered quietly; I was entranced by her sheer beauty, her utter perfection and angelic features. No, I had never before seen an angel before, for fear of what it would do to Ephraziel and, in return, myself, but from all of the stories and paintings and things, I gathered that they were insanely beautiful and unimaginably perfect creatures who were envied by all. Santana: insanely beautiful; check, unimaginably perfect; check, envied by all; as far as I could tell, damn accurate, so check. Therefore, using deductive reasoning or whatever, Santana was, by all rights, an angel.

_How right you are_, Ephraziel muttered secretively. I would've picked at her comment, but I was honestly way too distracted by Santana's position in my arms.

"They're happy tears, Britt," she mumbled, obviously as entranced with me as I was with her. My heart swelled intensely as my ears were blessed with her raspy, sultry voice sweetly whispering my long-ago-given nickname. The last time I heard someone say it the way she did was Tori…

_Shut the hell up about that dumb ass bitch_, Ephraziel advised. I, for once, heeded her words.

"Come on, Santana; let's get you cleaned up and into class," I finished with a kiss upon her nose and a soft smile.

After school, I would need to find Rachel and ask a huge favor.

* * *

**Review, follow and/or favorite!**

**-T**


	4. The Death

_Someone to need you too much…_

"No, absolutely not," Rachel shouted, shaking her head in refusal as we strolled along. "I am _not_ letting that happen."

I had caught up with Rachel after I escorted Santana to her respective class, honestly no wanting to be apart from her for a single second. I had found Rachel exiting from the Cheerios locker room, her hair mussed and her lips swollen from kissing. My guess, it was Quinn that she was kissing. She looked surprised when she first caught sight of me looking at her with a sly look. Her swollen mouth gaped and I watched, barely containing my laughter, as she grappled for words. She ended up ranting about how rude it was to laugh at her and her appearances. I eventually got her to shut up by asking her for a favor, which brought us to her immediate refusal.

"Come on," I tried again, gesturing with my hands to try to convince her again. "Just a little bit, Rachel; Santana's coming over after school and if I don't get _something_ I'll do something I'll regret." I was pleading, begging with Rachel in the middle of an empty hallway. I was pleading for food like a beggar in the streets. I was _so_ humiliating. I was begging, but Rachel just looked at me, shocked.

"You invited her over?" she shrieked. I quickly shushed her and looked down both ends of the hallway for anyone who might've heard and gone to investigate the 'Banshee's' screaming. "What in the name of Hell is wrong with you, Brittany?" she scolded in a harsh whisper. "You're starving and your 'perfect' solution is to invite the _one_ girl you yearn after _over to your house_?!"

"_Yes,_ which is why I need to feed on you," I explained. "So I don't suck her dry. I promised her parents I wouldn't hurt her."

"The only way for you to _not _hurt her is to stay as far away from her as possible, Brittany," Rachel stated, and I completely understood her logic. The only real way for me to keep from hurting her is to stay away from her, but I couldn't. Not just because of the contract I made with Maribel and Antonio, but because I myself can't stay away from her; it was virtually impossible, even for a creature like me who was described as impossible to begin with.

"I wish I could," I whispered, stopping in the middle of the deserted hallway. "But I can't, Rachel, I really can't."

"You can't possibly be _that_ infatuated with a girl you met three days ago," she whispered as she stopped next to me. Somehow, my logic seemed to avoid her. I mean, it was partially true. There was no way I could be so infatuated with someone I met just a few short days ago. But in all honesty, it felt like I knew her my whole life, even before my _reincarnation_. It felt like we had been best friends since we were children and we just couldn't let each other go.

"I'm telling you, Rachel," I insisted. "I _can't let her go; I can't leave her alone_."

"And why is that?" Rachel sassed in her diva-tone. That's when I finally realized that Rachel _didn't know_ that I was hired as a contract demon to watch over Santana. I've been on Earth for forever—figuratively speaking, of course—and I still hadn't told her yet. I first scolded myself—with a little help from Ephraziel, of course—and started telling her in the hell-hole of a school.

"Because I was—"the bell rung, signaling the end of class and the release of students, also, coincidentally, indicating the end of our conversation. I sighed and put my lips close to Rachel's ear right as people exited their respective classrooms and entered the quickly-crowding hallway. "Meet after last period; behind the bleachers."

"Brittany," she squeaked, looking scandalized. "That's where the…" she bent in close, suddenly dramatic. "The _Skanks_ meet up there."

"Exactly, therefore no one else will bother us." I turned and strutted away, my hips swaying unintentionally—though I don't believe Rachel perceived it as such—intent on meeting up with my Santana before the end of school; risk of killing her be damned. As I walked away, I softly heard Rachel complain through the ruckus of the hallway.

-0-

Even though I'm a Nightmare—not an Incubus or Succubus, though how freaking awesome would that be?—the only way I can feed is through a sexual act of some kind. Whether it's kissing, _massaging_, or actual sex, it works. I think it has to do with the sinful act of premarital intercourse combined with the sin of lust. I mean, it doesn't matter, really, food is food, but I do get kind of curious sometimes. Ephraziel usually quells that curiosity quickly, though. All I know for sure is three things—not particularly in this order: virgins are the _best_ food source, constant use of alcohol and drugs soil the food and girls are the best for Ephraziel and me, personally. Yes, I will occasionally use guys, but they aren't even _half_ as good as feeding off of girls. I've conjured up—ha, witch jokes—two main theories: my mortal, _human_ preferences passed on to _this_ "life", and the vulnerability of the… _position_ of the girls adds on to the provocativeness of the whole situation.

So, in shorter terms, Ephraziel and I _really_ like virgin girls. Unfortunately though, those are kind of hard to find these days, so Ephraziel has to make do with what is readily available. In serious times of need, though, demons have—recently—been permitted to feed off one another. It's not the tastiest, of course, what with all the soul-munching and pillaging and murdering and raping and—well, the list could go on forever and ever—but it's strangely satisfying. We learned, during things like the Black Plague and massive wars—the Crusades, the Hundred Years War, the Revolutionary War and the Civil War are all examples—that deplete the human population count, when the food was poisoned—again, Black Plague—or scarce, we relied on one another. It kept us full for the months, and, yes, sometimes years, when we didn't have the option of feeding off of humans or not. Nowadays, on the other hand, the supply is aplenty, but tainted with the results of these things called "YOLO" and "SWAG". (I honestly think that it's all the outcome of a few too many snorts of cocaine or shots of tequila, but that's just me.)

I walked towards the bleachers as I thought about the purity-lacking youth of today. The Skanks were lazing around behind them, but one look at the girl who broke Karofsky's nose with a single blow sent them flying to another area to smoke cigarettes and blunts. I wasn't surprised that they'd heard already; words by mouth spread quicker than most things. I smiled to myself as I watched them dash away; it wasn't like I _liked_ beating Karofsky's ass, it was a necessity—a requirement of the job, if you will. Not to mention Ephraziel's immediate approval of the sight of the barbarian's hot red blood trickling from his nostril.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," a voice whispered from behind me. I turned immediately to face her and smiled in what I hope was a charming way. She was wearing her usual: an ugly plaid skirt, a horrible, non-matching sweater with knee-high socks and crap-colored penny loafers. She must've noticed my gaze, for she quickly crossed her arms and put her weight on one leg. "Shut up, Brittany; it works."

I ignored her comment because, no, it absolutely _did not_ work. "I can totally believe that you're doing this for me." I softly let the words slip from my lips as I approached her and looked into her unfamiliar brown eyes. They were so unlike Santana's; with their demonic glint and their slight muddy hue, they were entirely their own. Santana's were as well, and I knew from then on that I would always want Santana's eyes on me; for no others' would I settle. "You're always there for me." I gripped her hand and pulled her close to my body. I felt her abnormal warmth radiate onto me as I softly set my hand on her cheek and I smiled teasingly at our height difference. I had a good five inches on her 5'3" and it amused me greatly. At first, I thought she took my laughter the wrong way, but then she started talking and I let it slip my mind.

"Quinn will kill me if she finds out, Brittany. I hope you know that," she muttered, worried. "I really don't want to lose her, Brittany; she's special to me." I chuckled, knowing the feeling all too well. "If this gets out, she'll hate me and leave me forever. She'll hate me so much, Brittany…" she trailed.

"I know that, Rachel; Santana and I won't fare much better either." I looked around, gazing along the empty football fields, the dead school campus—the utter _loneliness_ that Rachel and I were wrapped in. It was impossible for someone to see us and for either of us _not _to hear or see them.

I didn't dwell on the subject any longer, the all-too tempting smell of food too domineering for me to ignore any longer.

I quickly and forcefully grabbed Rachel's small face and crashed my lips to hers. I earned a loud grunt from her and it was soon accompanied by a soft whimper. I forced her against the chain link fence and was rewarded with a small mewl of pain. "Sorry," I gasped, separating our lips.

"It's fine, I'm okay," she responded quickly before reconnecting our lips.

Rachel's vulnerability, the scandalous position we were in, the minute _sounds_ she was making; they all added to the provocativeness of the situation. "No wonder you wanted to feed before Santana came over to your house. You're quite," I silenced her with another firm kiss and a sharp squeeze to her soft, small and round bottom. She opened her mouth and I took the chance to breathe in her aura. Even through the impurity of Rachel's—once long gone—soul, through her demonic defilement, it still felt oddly delicious; it still _tasted_ delicious.

Shit, I really _had_ starved myself.

I sealed out mouths together, not willing to let a single ounce of her aura slip into the accursed above-Hell atmosphere and disintegrate into nothing. I moved my hands to the back of her head and her neck, pulling her impossibly close to me. I was getting my full of her when I felt her body sag against me. Her hands, which were once gripping my upper arms ferociously, were now slipping down my forearms sluggishly, ending up at my wrists before falling completely.

_Brittany,_ Ephraziel whispered softly, barely getting my attention with her content voice. _You need to stop before you kill her_. Her voice was slow, lethargic; a sharp contrast from her usual uptight tone. _Come on, Brittany_. Ephraziel soothed me away from Rachel's essence. Eventually, I was completely detached from her and settling against the chain link fence. _Good girl_, Ephraziel praised as I panted. I lazily watched Rachel sink to the ground, drained within an inch of her life. I didn't feel sorry, however; I was glad that I'd finally fed, no matter the circumstances. I'd finally felt satisfied; after all of the "snacks" and mini-feedings, I _finally _felt full.

I dropped to the ground next to Rachel and puffed out deep breaths though the air felt scarce. "Damn it, Brittany," Rachel whispered, her breath thin and her voice raspy. "You couldn't left _some_," she was completely collapsed against the seat, her body giving the impression of a lifeless corpse, all except for her mouth, which seemed like it was always moving.

"Sorry, Rach," I sighed out, satisfied. "I lost control for a minute there, I guess." She opened her eyes in a flash, their gaze a furious glower.

"You need to work on that, Britt," Rachel advised, suddenly angry. Perhaps it was just a branch of caring or professionalism. However, whatever it was, it was scary as I'll get out. "Let's say you're making out with Santana and you just randomly lose control. You'd kill her. Then I'd have to deal with your depressed ass _yet again_."

Her words struck home, perhaps a little too much, so instead of verbally responding, I shot up from my place on the ground and made my way towards the school.

"If you kill her," Rachel shouted from behind me. I turned and found her in the same position as I had left her. "I'll never forgive you. You don't have the right to ruin her life; especially when you've already ruined yours." In place of striking her hard across the face like I wanted to, I muttered out a curse, spun around and walked away.

-0-

"Maybe you could come to Glee Club with me. To see if you like it." Santana spoke happily to me as she grasped my hands and led me through the maze of McKinley High School's halls. Her cheerleading uniform fir her tightly and her skirt flowed behind her. She looked at me and her face grew into a wide smile; it spread clean across her face, making her dimples more prominent and her eyes squint cutely. "If you want to, of course," she chuckled, repeating my words from earlier today. I simply _had_ to smile back as she dragged me along through the school, most likely towards the famous Glee room. Despite the fact that I had just fed, I was already longing for her ass to grind on my mouth with that animalistic need that everyone succumbed to at one point.

"Yeah, I think I'd like that, I whispered, my voice thick with lust at the _stimulating_ image permeating through my head—and body, for that matter. By the way that Santana's mouth fell agape and her eyes widened slightly, I'd say she noticed. Her eyes dropped quickly before she looked up, locked her eyes with mine and pressed our lips together softly. It wasn't as much of a _hot kiss _(metaphorically, of course; nothing Santana does _isn't_ hot) as much as it was… something _else_. It overflowing with this familiar, yet overly-strange burning sensation deep in the pit of my stomach. I kissed her back, trying to convey even _half_ of the emotion she was showing me. I moaned quietly as Santana pushed against my lips harder, seeming desperate for something. When she pushed me against the lockers and forced my shoulders to connect with the cold, hard metal, I seriously started to worry. I tried to separate our mouths to question her desperation, but she refused our detachment. I muttered her name, but it was muffled by her plush pillow-like lips. Raising my hands—again trying to get Santana's attention—I gasped when she ferociously grabbed my wrists and pinned them against the freezing lockers. Her hands were sweaty and cold; clammy, and I worried even more. At this point, I was concerned enough to use all of my lower-body strength to split her legs apart, push my hips off of the lockers and thrust them into hers, effectively pushing her off of me. Our lips became separated and her grip loosened, giving me the chance to switch our position. I swiftly grabbed her wrists, twirled us around and pinned her between myself and the lockers. She attempted to reconnect our lips, but I avidly refused. "Santana," I huffed, her strength surprising, her desperation intense. "What's wrong, my sweet?"

She didn't answer me, only tried to kiss me again. What bothered me the most about this whole situation, I think, was the fact that it was completely unexpected. There was no preamble, no smell—yes, I could usually smell when people were aroused—nothing. That's when I saw and smelled it; the flash of dark red, almost black, in her normally dark brown eyes; the smell of rotten and rotting flesh, masked by sweet-smelling perfume, not Santana's typical scent of coconut, mangoes and lavender.

"Succubus," I growled, shooting away from the despicable being quickly. "What the hell are you doing here on Earth?"

"I take offense." The succubus sauntered away from the wall and towards me, its eyes still flickering. "You act as if I'm any worse than you are." It slowly started to advance towards me and for every step it took towards me I took an equal step back.

"You are," I spat, hunching myself over in a primal, yet effective defensive stance. I felt long dead blood pump through my normally still veins and the hair on the back of my neck stood straight, on edge. The succubus, however, did nothing to defend itself. It was a purely offensive creature.

Besides, I'm pretty sure it knew that I wouldn't dare hurt Santana.

_You may not, but I certainly will_, Ephraziel snarled, just as defensive as I was. I felt her fuel my muscles and heighten my senses in preparation for the inevitable fight.

Faintly, I heard my name being called. I instantly recognized it as Rachel. I picked out a few other words as well, but nothing definitive. I focused on the succubus-possessed Santana as well as Rachel's fast approaching voice. "You are so much worse than I," I barked out.

"How do you suppose that is," the succubus murmured softly, seductively. It was so close to me that it's stench yet again ripped at my nostrils; repugnant and repulsive. "How am I, a demon, just as you, any worse than you are?" Venom fell from the vile beings mouth, willing my senses to be sent into hyper-drive.

"I lack the need to possess a body to walk the Earth, unlike you, you filthy, vile cur," I hissed, willing myself to keep from ripping the sleazy little scumbag parasite apart, piece by insignificant piece.

That's when I heard it.

Santana's voice resonated throughout the hallways and, in turn, the depths of my head. I looked into the pathetic little succubus' eyes and grinned maniacally at the fear that glowed brightly in those, now black, eyes. I felt Ephraziel mimic my smile as stood a little bit straighter. "You see," I began as I advanced towards the succubus. It actually had the good sense to start backing away from me. "Now I have grounds to rip you into a million and two Godforsaken pieces."

_And have a fucking blast whilst doing it_, Ephraziel rasped as she put pure demonic strength into my body. I blocked out everything except the pile of shit in front of me; I didn't register the sound of two pairs of shoes running towards me, I didn't hear Rachel call my name and tell me to stop. All I really heard was the heavy breathing of the succubus and the questioning calling of my name by Santana.

"You wouldn't _dare_ kill me in front of your—"

Before the creature could finish its sentence, I sped towards it, grabbed its skull through its mouth with one hand, reached in between its collarbone and shoulder through its skin with the other and spread my arms apart with as much strength as I could muster. Its head separated from its body with a repulsive tearing sound before slamming against a nearby wall and tattering to the floor. Its body followed not too long afterwards.

Everything was quite in the hallway, save for the sound of the succubus' flowing and trickling blood on the linoleum floor and my heavy breathing. The lights above us flickered and the red in my vision and the demon-adrenaline faded away from me. I watched the dead body in front of me return to normal. Or, should I say, what was as close to normal as the dependent little dreg of a demon could get.

Its body was translucent and pale as paste. I could see its black veins spider webbing throughout its pathetic excuse of a body. It looked emaciated, which was probably why it was trying to feed off of me: I was an easier target than most humans. It almost made me sad, the sight of the dead demon. How could a creature of Lucifer look so pitiful, frail… and, well, decrepit? I, yes, would've maybe shed a tear or two—it was technically my _relative_—had the invalid not tried to suck me dry. Unfortunately though, it had, and I simply reacted accordingly. The world—oh, how the mortals pervert it so—was less about _love_ and more about _survival_. Show one or two people you're better than a whole class of people, a few more won debates and babies kissed and you're on top. When you're on top, you've showed that you've _survived_. Love comes later. Demons were the first to realize this, angels the second. Mortals—excluding animals, of course—are the absolute last. _That's_ why the lower classes stand on their poor little soapboxes and shout out their poor little opinions; to try to show that they can survive too. The goal isn't for mortals to survive life, no, that's too easy, too simple; the goal is for mortals to survive _other mortals_. Use polite words, polite actions and a cutthroat hand and you've made it.

You've survived.

I, like so many demons before and above me, beat one and, in turn, a whole class. The succubus, like so many demons before it, did _not_ beat one and, in turn, _joined_ a whole other class.

Demons know survival better than anything, even angels. Mortals, however, did not.

"Did you just… decapitate me?!" Santana stuttered out. She looked like she was two seconds from passing out. Whether it was from the beheaded body of the succubus or the image of me doing the beheading, I didn't know. She glanced at me for half a second before gagging and looking away, repulsed. I inspected myself and, lo and behold, I was covered in what looked like black paint, but was actually about a pint of demon blood. The numbness and pins-and-needles in my arms prevented me from feeling the most-likely still warm demon blood that I was soaked with.

Rachel approached me slowly, cautious of the fact that I had just climbed a—technically two, including incubi—rung of the Demonic Hierarchy Ladder (a.k.a. Ladder o' Survival). At this point, I was only a mere one rung under her. Combined with the last threads of demon-adrenaline, my survival instinct was at an all-time high.

Rachel didn't know if I would exterminate her along with the succubus. I'm sure Santana had the same concerns, but for completely different reasons. Rachel grabbed the wrist of my left hesitantly and I responded with a red-eyed glared pointed straight at her. Rachel flinched back, dropping my wrist in the process.

_Brittany_, Ephraziel cooed, _calm down_.

It didn't work.

_Shut the fuck up_, I screamed in my head. The power that Ephraziel had fed me had left little remainders here and there and all they were doing were stampeding into my brain and infecting me with its impurity. _You have no right to order me around, you ungrateful little bitch; I'm _your_ vessel, not vice fucking versa._ I snapped at her and, instead of tearing apart my insides like she probably wanted to, she just kind of left me alone.

"Brittany," I heard from my side. "Brittany, what's going on?" Of course it was Santana, and of _course_ she'd be confused as to why I just ripped off her Succu-Twin's head right in front of her eyes. Of course she'd be confused as to why my eyes were bright red. She'd have questions, sooner or later, that I knew. I was just hoping that shock would settle in and it would be later rather than sooner. Apparently, I wasn't that lucky.

"Santana," I drawled, my voice uncharacteristically deeper than it usually was. "You need to leave." I had no idea who speaking through my body, because it _certainly_ wasn't me at the time. Demon-adrenaline, doped-up Brittany wouldn't have _ever_ said something so calm, so collected to an impatient and, yes, sometimes bitchy, Santana. "You need to go before I do something I regret."

"You mean you don't regret what you've already done?!" Her voice was at a shriek and Rachel was freaking out, thinking I was going to kill Santana just like I did her Succu-Twin.

"I did what I had to do, Santana," my voice cold, her face hardened, Rachel glanced between us, concerned for Santana, I'm sure. "You would've done the same if it were you in my place."

"I really doubt that," she snapped, getting in my face. If it were anyone else, I would've either strangled them or sucked them dry. Since it was Santana though, and I not only made a contract with her parents, but I felt so good when I was with her… I couldn't ever hurt her. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rachel advance towards us, weary of my close proximity to a pissed off and confused Santana. Suddenly though, as if a switch was flipped, her face fell in a tired sort of desperation. It was like we'd been fighting for years and she was exhausted from it all. "Please," she pleaded, her eyes conveying something that brought a lump to my throat and caused the red from my eyes to dim and splinter into somewhat clear vision. "I need you to tell me what's going on. I'm scared," she whispered as she grabbed my hand and intertwined our fingers; hers were soft and flexible, mine, steely and ice cold. That was, until her dark brown eyes—_hers_ not those fake succubus'—met mine—bloody and red, probably little more than slits at this point—and held them, willing me to calm down, to look at her with _my_ eyes, not _my demon's_ eyes.

"I know you are, Santana," I whispered, my voice finally my own again. "I _will_ explain to you our situation." I put my free hand to her face, softly, and slowly felt the chill of dead blood fade out of my hand and back to wherever it came from. "You just need to go first. I'm going to call the Cleaners and you shouldn't be here for that."

"I'll call them," Rachel interjected, and I remembered that she was still there. "You take her home. Make sure she doesn't have some random panic attack in the hallways and starts yelling and screaming about how Brittany S. Pierce is a decapitating Psycho Bitch." I smiled, mainly because we had one experience where that actually happened, but also because Rachel actually trusted me with Santana again. "Also make sure she doesn't go into shock," she whispered lowly so only I could hear her. "Keep her safe, keep your eyes open and keep adrenaline readily available. Incubi and Succubae travel in packs." I nodded and lead Santana away from the scene quickly.

"Brittany," she whispered as I sped down the hallway. She clung to my arm like a sloth to a tree; this made me smile. "Slow down, Brittany." She tried tugging on my whole arm to slow me down, but I wouldn't relent.

"I can't, my darling," I muttered. "I have to get us out of here." I whisked her out of the school doors, through the parking lot and up to my black Audi A8—courtesy of Maribel and Antonio, of course. I slid her easily into the passenger seat. After she was settled in, she suddenly slouched and sagged into herself.

She was passing out.

"Come on, Santana," I yelled in a whisper, my voice still cold. "Come on, my sweet. You mustn't leave me now; you must stay with me, darling." Her eyes, glazed over slightly, met mine and a single tear dripped from the corner of her eye. "Come back to me, love." Her mouth opened a sliver and a near-silent 'I'm okay' fell from it.

"Peace, darling," I murmured as I buckled her in and swiftly shut the door. I leaped over the hood of my car and ripped—not literally; this car was really expensive—the door open. Buckling myself in (out of habit), I started the car and sped out of the school's parking lot.

Santana was out two minutes into the drive.

I was in the driveway of my house in ten.


End file.
